The 34th Hunger Games
by Grace Gordon
Summary: My is Crag; first name, Ariana. I live in District Two. I'm sixteen, and I've been reaped for the 34th Hunger Games along with my best friend, Donovan Mason. I'm not beautiful. I've not got any muscle. But I sure do know how to fight. Let the 34th Annual Hunger Games begin! Rated T for a good reason. As much as I wish it was mine, the Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.
1. Chapter 1

"Ladies first!" Magnus Splendor crosses to the glass ball with the girls' names. His nimble tanned hand dives into the ball and digs around. He finally pulls out a small slip of paper. Everyone draws in a breath and you can hear a pin drop. I have to admit, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. Even though I'm from District Two, that doesn't mean I _want _to be in the Games.

Magnus crosses back to the podium, leaving behind a small trail of blue glitter sparkles from his jet black hair. He smoothes out the slip of paper using his long, lean fingers that are tipped with glittery nails. A smile spreads on his dark lips and he reads out the name in a clear voice, "Ariana Crag."

My name. Me. I'm Ariana Crag.

I remember when I was just a little girl and I was watching a momma bird feeding her chicks from the window ledge. My hand slipped, sending me off balance and falling out the window, two stories down, then landing on my back with a quiet thud. The impact of the hard-packed dirt had knocked every single bit of air from my lungs, and I just lay there, struggling to inhale, exhale, or do anything.

And that's how I feel right now. I can't breathe, I can't move, I can't think. I don't want to go into the Games. I'm not ready to _die_. Someone is pushing me forward. I catch my breath and glance over my shoulder at a tall girl with blonde hair, a smirk plastered on her face. I don't remember her name, but just by looking at her now I can tell she really isn't the nicest of people.

I look forward again and put a confident smile on my face, trying to hide the small quiver in my cheek and choke back the tears. I keep my head held high as I make my way through the crowd towards the stage. I reach up and tighten my long dark wavy pony tail before I steel myself to climb the steps.

I stand by the podium as Magnus crosses to the glass ball containing the boys' names. My grey eyes scan the crowd and lock on a tall, muscular boy with short blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes that are like the vast ocean. He stands out like a sore thumb. He's beautiful. He's the 'it' boy. He's my best friend. His beautiful blue eyes lock on my boring grey ones and I can tell by the mischievous glint in them that he's going to do something stupid. Oh, my God. No. He's going to volunteer, isn't he? I give a small shake of my head, only so he can notice it. He gives me a small nod back with a smirk.

I don't recognise the name that Magnus calls out. A small boy with dark hair and freckles begins to make his way through the crowd, but the boy with the blonde hair sticks up his hand and lunges through the crowd.

"I volunteer!" he cries.

The small boy stops and turns to see his saviour run past and take three steps at a time up the stage. He stands by Magnus, a wide, cocky, crazy grin plastered on his perfect face.

"Bravo!" gushes Magnus Splendor "That's the spirit of the Games!" He pleased that District Two has at least one volunteer this year. "What's your name?"

I suppress a laugh. Everyone in District Two knows this boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. He's Mr. Popular. Then I remember, the rest of Panem have never seen him. I stare at the boy intently, not aware of the longing look in my eyes.

"Mason," he says loudly down the microphone "Donovan Mason."


	2. Chapter 2

A group of Peacekeepers march us through the front door of the Justice Building as soon as the anthem ends. So many past tributes have walked through these same doors.

I'm conducted to a separate room and left alone. It's beautiful: polished, wooden floors, a large scarlet rug with fancy motifs and a cream sofa with floral patterns. I sit on the sofa and can't help myself but to trace the brown stems of the wandering salmon-coloured flowers. I guess it takes my mind off of my imminent death. Now is the time allotted for the tributes to say goodbye to their loved ones. I do not want to get upset, to leave this room with blood-shot eyes and red cheeks, looking weak in front of the cameras at the train station.

My father, Andy Crag, a tall man with broad shoulders, green eyes, copper hair and a square jaw line, comes into the room. I sit up straighter and look him in the eye. He takes a seat beside me. Honestly, he looks nothing like me; he's handsome, I'm ugly. We sit in silence for the first few minutes. Not an awkward silence, though, just a silence in which we enjoy each other's company.

My mother, Arielle Crag, died during my birth. I was my parent's first child. My father never found love after her. I suppose I'm all he has left now to love. He says that I look exactly like my mother, but I don't believe it. In any photos of her, she looks beautiful: dark hair down to her waist, piercing grey eyes, snowy white skin and womanly curves in all the right places. I wonder what it would be like if I grew up with my mother by my side. Would I be here, in this room right now?

I'm so caught up in the thoughts of my mother that I don't realise my farther is talking to me. He grips my arm and shakes me gently back to reality. I look at him with watery eyes.

"Listen to me. Are you listening to me?" he asks sharply.

I nod enthusiastically, alarmed by his intensity.

"You can do this, Ari. You won't die. You'll win this year. Ariana Crag: victor of the 34th Annual Hunger Games."

"But Donovan–" I start to protest, but he cuts me off.

"I don't care about Donovan. Kill him. He's going to kill you. It's kill or be killed. Remember all your skills from the Academy. You can do it, Ariana," his voice begins to shake. "I can't lose you too."

He suddenly lunges forward and embraces me in his arms. I put a hand over my mouth to suppress a silent sob and close my eyes tightly, holding back the water works.

"I love you, Ari," my father whispers.

"I love you too, dad," I whisper into his shoulder.

The Peacekeepers are back too soon and we're forced apart. I let out a cry and they slam the door behind them. I won't ever see my wonderful father again.

It's an extremely short ride from the Justice Building to the train station. I've never been in a car, but I've seen plenty before. I tend to travel on foot.

I'm so glad that I didn't cry. The large station is swarming with insect-like cameras trained on my face and reporters with microphones. I put on a smile and even wave to one of the cameras, pretending not be afraid. I catch a glimpse of myself on the screen on the wall that's airing me live and feel gratified that I appear like I couldn't give a flying fairy about being in the Games this year.

I look at Donovan to see that he's wearing a massive grin. When he walks, it's almost as if he's floating: moving elegantly, looking like he was a gift from God himself. He's obviously not the least bit worried about the Games, or at least he appears like he's not. It is obvious that Donovan is going for the hot-stuff, blood-thirsty strategy this year.

We stand in the doorway of the train while the cameras gobble up our images, then we go inside and the doors close mercifully behind us. The train starts at once.

The speed of the train initially takes my breath away. I've never been on a train, of course.

The tribute train is even fancier than the room in the Justice Building. I have my own chamber that has a bedroom, a private bathroom and a dressing area.

The drawers are filled with beautiful clothes, and I can wear anything I want! I have to be ready for supper in an hour. I take off my red reaping dress and take a nice, long, hot shower. I dress in a purple silk blouse and a pair of black trousers.

At the last minute, I remember my district token: a locket with a picture of me in one side and my mother and father in the other. On the outside, the gold locket has a swirling design that shapes into a heart. Father said it belonged to mother before.

Magnus Splendor comes to collect me for supper. I follow him out and through the narrow corridor into a blue dining room with polished panelled walls. There's a mahogany table where all the dishes are highly breakable. I sit in the empty chair next to Donovan.

A young woman with blonde hair and blue eyes comes into the room followed by a middle-aged, scary-looking bald man with dark eyes. They're our mentors: Roxy Emerson and Demetrius Hadley. I'll have Roxy. They sit beside each other, facing Donovan and me.

"Well," Magnus sighs with a smile "it's been a truly exhausting day."

The supper comes in courses. A thick asparagus soup, fresh salad, beef stew and mashed potatoes, fruit, cheese and crackers. I'm always reminding myself to save room because there's even more to come.

When the meal's over, we go to another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem. One by one, we watch the other reapings, the names called; the volunteers stepping forward–if there are any. I only pay attention to the tributes from One and Four right now because Roxy and Demetrius will try and ally them with us. A lean boy with golden hair named Topaz Nicolson is picked from One, along with a beautiful blonde girl with green eyes called Ruby Diamonds. From Four, a boy no older than fifteen volunteers for his younger brother. His name is Roderick Fisher. The female tribute is an olden girl called Dalia Netter, with copper hair and blue eyes.

Roxy lets out a low, long whistle once all the tributes have been reaped. "Quite a line up this year."

I look over at her with a nervous face. Does she really think I have no chance? I then look up at Donovan who is sitting close beside me. He looks down and meets my gaze with a confident glint in his blue eyes. He wraps his muscular arms around me and I scoot closer to him, burying my face in his hard chest. His lips press against the top of my head, and whispers against my hair so only I can hear, "We can do this."

All I do is nod slowly. It's like his touch contains a thousand volts, sending shocks through my body and paralyzing me temporarily. I'm so used to this now, the warmth of his arms. It's almost as if I can feel the eyes of our escort and mentors on us. I just want the world around us to disappear; only leaving Donovan and me behind to run away from all of this mayhem.


	3. Chapter 3

Donovan and I break apart when Demetrius clears his throat loudly.

Magnus Splendor stands up and stretches out his long arms. "We should all get to bed. I don't want my little tributes looking all tired tomorrow when we arrive," he yawns.

Little? God, I seriously cannot stand this glittery man. What does he think we are, poor little calves going away to slaughter? I nod my head in agreement anyway, there's no point in protesting. He's right about one thing: I don't want to look like a walking corpse tomorrow.

Magnus stalks off out the compartment. I stand up next, looking at Donovan and our mentors. "I'll see you all tomorrow," I say with a nod, and slip out after Magnus. I wander through the narrow, rocking corridors, finding my way back to my bedroom.

I stand staring out the window of the train for a while, wishing I could just open it, but unsure of what would happen as we are travelling at such high speed.  
In the distance, I can see vibrant lights from another district that must be One. I think about all those rich people, celebrating another offering of tributes, and the families of those tributes, settling in for the night, wondering about their relatives' fates. I imagine my home; my father sitting alone in the old living room, curtains drawn. Did he eat supper? Or did he just leave his plate untouched? Did he watch the recap of the day's events on our old TV? Does he know, deep down inside, that I'll be coming back to him–dead–in a wooden box?

Imagining home and my father makes my heart ache with loneliness. This day has been endless. If I hadn't of been reaped, would Donovan had still volunteered? This was his last possible year for entering the Games, after all. Maybe he just wants to be recognised as a hero to his district. He's eighteen, officially an adult I suppose. Donovan and I are like chalk and cheese; a very strange combination. Maybe, just maybe, if I go to sleep, I'll wake up in my home back in District 2, where I really belong.

I find the drawers hold a number of nightgowns. I end up just choosing a plain cream one that comes down to mid-thing, and climb into bed. The soft, silky sheets are a lilac colour, and I find immediate heat from the thick, fluffy quilt.

For a long while, I stare into space, waiting for the tears to come–but they never do. My eyes close willingly after some time, and sleep finally claims me.

Early morning light leaks through the crack of the curtains when I wake. I hear Magnus Splendor's chirpy voice, calling me to rise. "Wake up, wake up! We've got a big big day ahead of us!" Just for a moment, I try and imagine what it's like in that sparkly man's head. What thoughts go through that pretty head of his? What he dreams of at night? I have absolutely no clue at all.

I slip my slim legs out of the duvets and stand up. I take off my nightgown, and change into a cream pussybow blouse with lemon yellow skinny jeans. I put on my gold locket again and wrap my fingers around it, briefly thinking of home back in District 2. I brush through my long dark hair and then put it in a messy bun. It doesn't really matter what I look like just now. We're extremely close to the Capitol now, and when we reach the city, my stylist will make me over to look all pretty for the opening ceremonies tonight. I just hope I get one who doesn't think that nudity is the latest fashion.

I enter the dining car, and look at the others who are sitting at the table. Donovan, who has that beautiful fresh morning look about him, and Demetrius are laughing. Magnus and Roxie are deep in conversation about what looks like something serious, probably this year's Games. Donovan stops laughing, meets my gaze and smiles at me. I feel heat rush to my cheeks automatically.

"Ari! Come sit! Come sit!" Donovan beckons to me, still smiling. I walk calmly to the table and sit down quietly. He suddenly puts a hand on my forehead with a concerned look and asks, "Are you okay, Ari? You look like you're burning up."

"I'm fine," I say quickly, feeling even more embarrassed.

His hand retreats back to his side and I'm served a humungous platter of breakfast foods. Ham, eggs, porridge, toast, fruit, fried potatoes. There's a glass of apple juice to my right. At least, I think it's _just_ apple juice. It could be apple cider for all I know. There's a mug of coffee to my left as well, but I won't be going near that as I absolutely detest that horrible taste. I stuff my face with the maximum amount my stomach can hold, which is a surprisingly substantial amount.

When I feel like I'm literally about to explode, I lean back in my chair and watch the others. Donovan is eating a crunchy red apple. Magnus is mixing drinks full of caffeine together, probably trying to make himself look fine and dandy for the crowds to come. Demetrius is eyeing Donovan up, analyzing his every move. Roxy is pushing some bits of ham and egg around her plate, looking almost bored.

"So," I say to Roxy, getting her attention immediately "you're meant to give me advice."

"Oh, yes. Advice, uh, kill as many other tributes as you can, win, and remember: friends turn into enemies; trust no one," she says.

I exchange a look with Donovan. Is Donovan really going to try and kill me? I can't even begin to imagine what that would be like. The audience would love a good fight like that, though, I bet.

Magnus stands up and walks to the window, looking out with his hands behind his back, his long fingers interlocked. "We'll be pulling into the station in a few moments. You two will be put in the custody of your stylists. You may not like what they do to you, but no matter how bad it really is, you must not resist," he says, giving Donovan and me a sharp look.

The car goes dark, like night has fallen again. We must be in the tunnel that runs through the mountains and into the Capitol.

Donovan and I stand beside each other in silence as the train continues to speed along. I begin to think that this tunnel will go on forever, staying in this dim light for all of eternity.

Finally, the train slows and bright light floods into the compartment. I run to the window to see the Capitol, something that I've only seen on television. The cameras certainly haven't lied about the Capitol's sumptuousness. But to me, all the colours seem artificial.

Donovan stands beside me now and the crowds point eagerly towards us as they recognise a tribute train coming into the city. My eyes look over the crowd, observing the weird fashions and people. Finally, when the train pulls into the station, their view of us is blocked.

Donovan turns to me with a smile, offering me his arm. "Shall we?" he asks.

I nod my head and put on a fake smile, prepping myself for the crowds ahead. I link in with his arm and say, "We shall."


	4. Chapter 4

"Ow!" I yelp loudly as Bonita, a plump young woman whose entire body has been dyed a pale shade of pale purple, yanks a large strip of fabric from my slim leg, uprooting all the hair beneath it.

"Sorry!" she squeaks in her fatuous Capitol accent. "It's just that you're so hairy! But this is the last one. Ready?"

I nod my head and grip the edges of the table I'm sitting on hard with my fingers. The last of my leg hair is torn out in an excruciating jerk.

I've still not met my stylist and I've been at the Remake Centre for over four hours. The other members of my prep team have scrubbed my body down with gritty foam which has removed a layer of dirt, and I swear a few layers of skin have gone with it. The foam has turned my nails into homogeneous shapes, and fundamentally, eradicating my body of its hair. My torso, arms, legs, underarms and eyebrows have been stripped of the stuff, leaving me like a plucked turkey ready for cooking. I hate it. My skin stings so much. However, I have followed Magnus's orders and no protests have crossed my lips.

Jerome, a man with a bright blue afro and green eyeliner, and Kara, a skinny older woman with cat whiskers and a button nose, rub me down with some sort of lotion that soothes my raw skin. I get off the table and they remove my robe. I feel over exposed as the three circle me, removing any last bits of hair with their tweezers.

The three stand back and admire their work. "Wonderful, my darling! Just magnificent!" Bonita pipes.

"Thanks," I say, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks.

"Let's go call Hareem!" Jerome exclaims and they dart out of the room. I'm actually beginning to warm to my prep team. I guess not all Capitol citizens are snooty and horrid.

A shiver runs through my body; it's freezing in this bare room. I resist the urge to retrieve my thin robe.

The door finally opens and a young man – Hareem – with a midnight blue bob and silver eyes enters. Oddly, I find him alluring. His eyes have a certain kind twinkle in them, and I warm to him almost immediately. He wears a simple white shirt and trousers.

"Hello, Ariana. I'm Hareem Silver, your stylist," he says in a broad Capitol accent.

"Hello," I say cautiously.

He walks around me, inspecting my naked body, but not touching my bare skin. "Okay, why don't you put your robe back on and we'll have a little chat." He smiles at me.

I pull on my robe and follow him through a door into a sitting room. Two orange leather sofas face each other over a low glass table. Three of the walls are black; the fourth is made of glass, bestowing a window to the city. By the light, I'm guessing it must be around noon. I sit on the plush sofa across from Hareem. He pressed a button on a leg of the table and the top splits. From below, a second tabletop rises. On it is our lunch: liver pate, grilled fish, fruit tarts, cheese and fresh bread.

"So, Ariana, about your costume for the opening ceremonies. My partner – Myrtle – is the stylist for your district partner, Donovan. And our thought is to dress you in sassy costumes," says Hareem.

I nod my head, wondering where this is going.

"Myrtle and I think District 2 is by far the strongest district," he continues. "And we believe that you should show off not just your power, but your divinity too. A long time ago, before Panem, people believed in Gods. They would pray, worship and obey them."

I think I like where this is going.

"So we plan on dressing you as God and Goddess." He sees my expression and grins.

A few hours later, I am dressed in what has to be the consummate costume of the opening ceremonies. I'm in a very short cream dress with a one shoulder strap. Around my waist is a thin gold belt, showing off the hour-glass figure I thought I never had. On my wrists are chucky gold bracelets. Around my head is a thin gold band, my curled black hair over one shoulder. To top it all off, on my feet I wear a pair of gold sandals that weave their way up my shins to my knees. My grey eyes look almost as silver as Hareem's against the gold eye shadow.

Donovan shows up, looking like a sex god – literally. He wears a cream tunic that runs over one shoulder, outlined in a large gold strip. He wears a crowd of solid gold leaves, and around his biceps are gold bracelets. On his feet, he wears simple gold sandals. An odd feeling comes into my chest and I feel drawn towards him.

He meets my gaze and smiles. "You look beautiful."

I smile then bite my lip before saying quietly, "You clean up quite nicely too."

We're rushed down to the bottom level of the Remake Centre, which is a colossal stable. We're directed to our chariot, which is being pulled by four exquisite palomino horses. Hareem and Myrtle carefully arrange our positions before moving off to consult with the others.

The opening music begins, and the massive doors slide open, revealing crowd-lined streets.

Topaz and Ruby, spray-painted silver, in fine tunics glistening with jewels, ride out in a chariot pulled by four silver-white horses.

Donovan and I get into position to follow them. We ride out into in the street and the crowd cheers and shouts our district. I catch a glimpse of us on a large television screen, and we look utterly brilliant.

I gain confidence and begin to wave to the crowd, a fake smile on my face. Donovan is obviously enjoying all of the attention. He's grinning from ear to ear, winking at girls, waving to everyone.

The twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle, and the music ends with a flourish.

The president, a tall man with blonde hair, gives the official welcome from his balcony above us. When the national anthem plays, we disappear into the Training Centre.

Hareem and Myrtle help us down from the chariot.

"You did great," Donovan says into my ear, his bare, muscular arm around me.

I flash him a real smile and say, "Thanks. You did better, though."

He shakes his head and opens his mouth to protest, but before he can speak, Ruby appears by his side and links in with him. "Hey," she says with a smile, showing a top row of beautifully white teeth "you look very nice, I must say."

Donovan removes his arm from me and turns his back so he's facing the blonde beauty. "Thank you. You look gorgeous yourself."

Ruby giggles and flicks her blonde her over her shoulder. She tugs on his arm and says, "Come on, come on. Come and meet Topaz, my district partner."

She stalks off with Donovan trailing behind her, and I feel a feeling I've never felt before. _Jealousy_.


	5. Chapter 5

I've only ever ridden the elevator once in the Justice Building back in District 2: yesterday to say my final goodbyes to my father. But that's dark and dingy. This elevator has crystal walls so that you can watch as the people on the ground floor shrink to ants when you shoot upwards.

My quarters, I'm sure, are larger than my whole house back in Two. I don't think I even have time to press all of the buttons and try out all of the gadgets. There's so many of them! Like the train car, my quarters are opulent.

I programme the wardrobe for an outfit that's to my taste. I order some mints through a mouthpiece and they arrive moments later. Eating my mints, I pace back and forth, thinking of what this year's arena could possibly look like. When Magnus knocks on the door to call me for dinner, I jump, coming back into reality, and my mints scatter on the floor.

Donovan, Hareem and Myrtle are sitting down at the table when we enter the dining room. I do know that dinner isn't _really _about food, but about our strategies. Even so, I don't think I'll be doing much talking because I am starving.

A silent young woman dressed in a white tunic offers us all glasses of red wine. I've never had wine before, and I wonder if I'll like it. I sip the acerbic liquid and secretly think it could be improved by a few spoonfuls of syrup.

Hareem and Myrtle seem to be having a civilised conversation while I focus on the meal. Potato and leek soup, cauliflower bhaji with pita bread, chicken korma curry, noodles in a brown sauce, green and purple grapes. The severs are dressed like the young woman in the white tunic. They move around the table, keeping glasses and platters full.

I try to focus on the talk, which has turned to our costumes for the interviews, when a cake is set down on the table. I can feel my mouth salivate, desperate to taste the beautiful-looking chocolate cake.

We eat the cake – which is ambrosial – and then move into the sitting room to watch a reply of the opening ceremonies. I have to admit, we were phenomenal.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Get some good rest and meet me for breakfast so we can talk it over," Demetrius says to Donovan.

I look at Roxy and she nods back, almost as if to say 'You too.'

Donovan and I walk down the corridor together to our rooms. When we reach my room, Donovan leans against my door frame, not blocking my way, but making sure I pay attention to him. He smiles down at me and says, "Excited for tomorrow?"

I look up at him and get lost in his beautiful blue eyes.

"Ariana?"

I come back into reality with a shake of my head and say, "Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess so."

He arches one of his perfect eyebrows. "You guess so?"

"I'm sort of nervous. You know I don't have a very good chance in the Games. Not with _you_ alive and kicking," I try to make it sound like a joke, but he doesn't catch onto the light humour.

His face is serious. "Ari," he says sternly, "I won't do anything to hurt you. I can't. I'd rather die myself than kill you."

"What about that Ruby girl? Would you rather die that kill her?" The bitter words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. My hand flies over my mouth. Oh God, I can't _believe_ I just said that.

Donovan frowns at me. "Why would you say something like that? I barely even know her. You're my best friend."

_Best friend_. When he says those words, I feel like he's stabbing me through my chest, piercing my heart.

"Sorry," I whisper. "I know. It just came out by accident."

Donovan sighed and wrapped his arms around me, sending an electric current around my body. "Goodnight, Ariana," he says into my ear then starts down the corridor.

I watch him go. He never uses my full name unless he's annoyed. God, what have I done? Still, I wonder if he feels the electric shock when we touch, and I wonder if we will ever be something more than best friends. Probably not.


End file.
